Bad Words

Upon returning from the computer lab last Thursday, they just couldn't wait to descend upon me, one after the other, to share the news that "Alyssa said a bad word!" I half-ignored them in my attempts to hurry them along so they don't miss the bus. "A bad word? Really? Alyssa?" I say incredulously, when several more approach me to share the exciting news.

Alyssa vigorously shakes her head. "NO!" she says with vehemence. "I did not!"

"Yes she did!" shouts Raymond and Brandy gleefully. "In the computer lab!"

Alyssa keeps shaking her head and contorting her face in a wild attempt to stem the tide of eager tattling over her newly-discovered truck-driver mouth. Figuring that, since Alyssa was relatively new to our classroom, she didn't know about the "shut up" admonition, I did what all harried teachers do while trying to hurry an excited group of kindergarten children out a doorway that is suddenly much too small.

"What did she say," I asked Jessica, lowering my voice in case it was "stupid" or worse, like "idiot."

"She said F*#k!" reports Jessica dutifully. The kids unanimously agreed.

"I did not say f&^k!," yells Alyssa, folding her arms and sticking her head out and bobbing it in front of Jessica's face.

"You did! She did, teacher," says Brandy, eyes wide and flashing, "she said f^&k!"

"I did not! No, I didn't say f&^*!" Alyssa shouts, whirling around to face down each of her accusers.

Raymond approaches me seriously and tugs on my shirt. I lean down, while putting my hand out in a vague attempt to stop the yelling of "f%$k" each time Alyssa denies it. "Teacher. She did. She said "f&%k," intones Raymond. "I heard her."

"Me, too," says Tabatha, thrilled that it is somebody else getting in trouble over the uttering of bad words.

I send the other kids to the bus line and signal for Julie to take my kids with hers, holding on to Alyssa's backpack as she attempts to skitter away towards her dad, who is waiting outside. Where there is smoke, there is fire, and Alyssa senses it as I lean down and whisper into her face.

"Tell me the truth. What happened?" I ask in my best no-nonsense teacher voice. She caves and looks down. "Okay, I said it."

"Were you mad?" I ask.

"No," responds Alyssa, shrugging at me and smiling.

"Were you annoyed?" I ask.

"No," she replies, kicking at the cement with her shoe and watching her dad out of the corner of her eye. As he comes closer, she whispers, "I made a mistake. I was just talking to myself."

Still wanting a reason for such uncharacteristic behavior, I ask if she was wearing the headphones and didn't realize other people could hear her.

"No!" she laughs, finding that notion clearly ridiculous.

"Well then, WHY, for heaven's sake? That is an awful word and it doesn't sound right coming from your mouth," I say.

Alyssa nods solemnly. "Okay, teacher. I won't say it anymore."

"What's going on?" asks Dad.

"Alyssa said a bad word. But she won't be doing that anymore, will you, Alyssa?" I say, raising my eyebrows.

Dad looks surprised. "What?" he says, peering down at his daughter, folding his arms.

"I won't anymore," she promises, grabbing her dad's hand in an attempt to stop this conversation from going any further.

"What did she say?" asks Dad, falling into the same trap I did, but sensing that we aren't having a face-to-face over "stupid," "idiot," or "shut up."

"Um... it rhymes with truck," I say, "And she won't be doing it again."

"Oh," says Dad, putting his hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I let that one slip now and again."

"Yes well.....," I begin, but Alyssa is dragging at his hand, clearly embarrassed for both of them.

"He won't say it again," the child assures me, leading her mortified father down the sidewalk towards the parking lot, pausing only to turn around and yell back to me.

"If he does," Alyssa shouts, "I'll tell you, teacher!"